


Right Before Your Eyes

by MianMimi



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Love Confession, M/M, Wong putting up with their trauma and drama, strordo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 02:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10350348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MianMimi/pseuds/MianMimi
Summary: During one of Wong’s visits, Stephen reflects on Mordo’s choices and makes a confession. Wong has a few things to say too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My writing is literally all over the place XD I have about four little ficlets going on in addition to AYWS but this plot bunny kept nagging at me the hardest. Contains Strordo, and of course Stephen & Wong friendship cause we all need more Wong in our lives :D Also, this was written without a beta so every typo and non-sensical thing is my fault entirely @__@

When Karl Mordo left Kamar-Taj, Stephen Strange reassured everyone that he would return within the week. He simply had to. Mordo wouldn’t just abandon his home, his students, and his entire way of life without a second glace. Stephen knew him to be better than that. Even when Mordo’s few possessions disappeared completely, they all believed he was only extending his leave. It wasn’t permanent. He’d return. He was their most faithful, dedicated master, and the Ancient One’s obvious successor. He only needed some time, just a little more time, to sort things out and find peace before taking up the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme. Because that’s how things must be, how they should be and will be. They just needed more time.

Weeks aged into months, long, lonely, quiet months that gave little comfort to Stephen Strange.

And all that time revealed was that Karl Mordo was not coming back.

It was now four months since Stephen accepted his role as the guardian of the New York Sanctum but it felt so much longer than that. He wondered if it was a long term effect of repeatedly using the Eye, or perhaps residual energy from the Dark dimension that was disrupting his sense of time. Regardless of the reason, it felt like a lifetime since he’d last seen Mordo. 

He thought about him so often, so deeply, that he wondered if what he truly felt was a simple matter of missing someone. He questioned himself, searching every memory out of desperation to connect with Mordo again. 

It was when he was completely alone in the stillness of the night that his heart truly felt the sting. Maybe it was because there was little to distract him during those dark hours, or maybe it was because Mordo left him during the night. Or perhaps it was the possibility that he might return. That faint hope drew sleep away from him. The fear that Mordo might return in his slumber caused many restless nights for Stephen, which in turn lead to weary days.

In those long days he felt encased, even when he wasn’t physically surrounded by the Sanctum walls. It felt like his new responsibilities followed him everywhere, resting heavy on his shoulders, sticking to his skin like new collection of scars. Even when he walked the busy streets, spoke with old acquaintances, and visited familiar sights he felt like a stranger, as if this dimension was simply something he was passing through rather than home. 

It was jarring how his sense of home had changed. He wasn’t even sure where home was anymore. He just knew it wasn’t where he was.

And then there were those truly awful days that felt like bright nightmares. Days when he thought he caught a glimpse of Mordo in a crowded street, or in the shadows of the Sanctum, only to find nothing there. Even worse were the nights when he’d awaken from a phantom touch by calloused fingers only to open his eyes to find the room as empty as before. 

“Home is where the heart is,” Wong told him once during a visits to the Sanctum. “Old words but true. Find out where your heart is. Home will be there too.”

Ever since Mordo left the other masters were busy trying to rebuild the fallen Sanctums and restructure their order. They had little time to guide Stephen. Thus Wong ended up visiting more frequently than anyone expected, both to help Stephen transition to his new role and to alleviate his loneliness. The visits were predictable and rarely missed, full of debates, banter, and oddly enough a lot of encouragement. Wong’s former sternness gave away to a far kinder gentleness Stephen did not expect. He welcomed it earnestly just the same.

They developed an odd dynamic that Stephen was grateful for. Wong seemed like the only person he could speak freely to who understood something about dying and coming back to life. It was difficult to find someone with that shared experience, even though Stephen’s was a far more extreme case.

Their conversations, regardless of how they started, would end with the same routine. Their talks usually wandered to that night in Hong Kong, and it was guaranteed that they would bring up Mordo. It was enlightening, to say the least, to notice that Wong rarely added his own thoughts on the topic. Instead he allowed Stephen to talk as much as he could about the estranged man before the one-sided conversation faded into another subject. It was only recently that Wong finally voiced his opinion, and even then it was said more out of kindness than scorn.

“He’s not coming back,” Wong told him during their last visit while Stephen stared outside the Sanctum’s immense window, “You must understand that by now.” 

“I understand why he wouldn’t.” Stephen replied, his eyes bright with stubborn hope, “And I also understand why he would, and he will. I know he will.”

That had been a week ago. It was the longest gap between their visits so far. 

He received word that Wong had taken ill and needed some time to recover less he spread the sickness around. They couldn’t afford any more sorcerers out of commission, especially a master. There was also talk of others falling to the strange illness. Stephen offered to help but the other masters were adamant he remained in New York for the time being. For his own safety, and for that of the Sanctum.

Which is why he was surprised to see the familiar, fiery ring appear at the bottom of the stairs.

The Cloak, ever suspicious, detached from his shoulders and floated down to greet whoever stepped forth. 

Stephen couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

It was strange to think of the Cloak as his oldest friend, but the relic truly was considering the amount of time they were stuck in the time loop. It seemed the Cloak did not forget their time together either, frequently serving as an odd security blanket during Stephen’s night terrors. The relic was over-protective and skittish, and its master had to often reassure it that a visitor meant them no harm.

“Hey Wong?” Stephen called out when no one stepped through. No reply came back. The silence was long. 

Long enough for him to hope. 

His hands, shaking and suddenly cold, tightened. His eyes, blue and brilliant, flew wide open. All the while his heart leapt high.

Could this be?

He sprinted down the stairs without a thought of the potential danger that awaited him. He only thought of seeing that face again, scared and dark, hardened by a lifetime of running and fighting. A face he wanted to see above all others, with eyes that looked at him with such regret and anger that the memory of it burned.

“Mordo?” Stephen called out as he took the final steps of the staircase, “Mordo!”

The surge of hope collapsed, the ache within his chest deepened as another sorcerer stepped out..

“Wong-” Stephen felt immediate guilt over his disappointment, “I’m sorry I just-”

“It seems I should be the one apologizing for disappointing you,” The librarian said as the portal disappeared behind him. “Again.”

“Oh god no! I’m happy you’re here it’s just-”

“Stephen,” Wong said with a forgiving smile, “It’s quite alright.”

He had a basket tucked under one arm, half full of canisters, and the other half full of food. 

“You look unwell,” Wong frowned. “Have you been neglecting yourself?”

“Believe me, I’m perfectly fine,” Stephen lied. The dark shadows beneath his downcast eyes were the only parts of him that weren’t pale. His cheeks were slightly sunken in, hallow, much too similar to the state Wong first saw him in. 

“I don’t believe you.” Wong said, “You’re looking as skinny as you did when you arrived at Kamar-Taj.”

“Well you’re looking exceptionally healthy for someone who was too sick to visit for a week,” Stephen replied. 

“Yes, much healthier than you. Doesn’t that concern you?” Wong nodded to the basket he carried, “Masters are hard to come by these days. Can’t have the newest one starve himself to death.”

“And the books I asked for?” Stephen glanced over to see if there were any tucked in the basket.

“Still under the possession of some very eager students,” Wong said, “Surely you understand the enthusiasm.”

“Alright then. I thought I was next on the waiting list though.” Stephen shrugged with a smile, “Nevermind that. I’m starving. I really did miss your cooking.”

The Cloak swooped down, politely took the basket from Wong, and hopped up the stairs. 

“He missed you too,” Stephen said as he lead the way. “Sometimes I think he gets tired of my company.” 

“Nonsense,” Wong replied. “That relic adores you.”

“Hmmm,” Stephen smiled, “You know what, you’re absolutely right!”

“When am I not?”

Wong’s quiet laughter joined his as they made their way up the stairs. During their first few visits they shared food in the dining hall, as normal people would. But that was long ago. Stephen enjoyed looking out the immense windows of the Sanctum’s second floor so much that they usually just ended up eating there instead. It was more pleasant to look at than the small, enclosed kitchens. Stephen loved looking at the outside world. If anyone alive deserved to see the world, it was him. He paid a terribly high price to keep it intact. 

“Thanks,” Stephen said to the Cloak, who had quickly set the bowls and plates before its master and guest arrived. “You really didn’t have to.”

The Cloak twirled bashfully in response then swept up to pat its master’s high cheekbones.

“Okay now. Stop it,” Stephen said, gently waving the relic away. The beautiful red Cloak contently floated away to visit the other relics while the two sorcerers shared their meal.

“That thing spoils you.” Wong said, pouring soup into their bowls, “I’ve never seen a relic so utterly devoted to their master.”

“C’mon now, what’s not to love?” Stephen joked, “I only saved the world. Became the fastest sorcerer to become master and of a Sanctum no less--”

“Still so much pride then.” Wong’s lips turned down as he offered him a bowl, “You should know better than most that it comes before a fall.”

“Yup,” Stephen said, “And it fucking hurts.”

He took a spoonful of the soup and immediately felt the warmth shoot through him. The scent was fragrant, savory, and it sparked Stephen’s memory of how often he had it back in Kamar-Taj.

“I remember this!” Stephen said, taking another spoonful before continuing. “I couldn’t get enough of this while I was training. I still remember the first time I had it. Mordo forced me to eat it after I conjured my first portal.”

“Forced?” Wong replied, “I’m sorry my cooking is so repulsive that you were forced to eat any of it.”

“Give me a break Wong. My ass was half frozen to death. Wasn’t exactly in the mood for food, even for something as delicious as this.” Stephen took a deep whiff of the fragrant aroma. He took another taste of the broth, licking his lips before pulling them back.

“Hmm. It’s a little bland. Just a bit off. Did you run out of a spice or something?”

For a split second, worry flashed through Wong’s eyes. Stephen thought little of it though. Wong was a meticulous perfectionist when it came to his precious recipes. He was surprised the librarian didn’t snatch the bowl from him right away to conjure another batch on the spot.

“Forgive me, I did just recover from a cold-” Before Wong could finish his apology the Cloak appeared, discretely gliding over to place a salt and pepper shaker before Stephen. 

“Really? How did you even know?” Stephen asked. The Cloak’s collar flicked up, as if in salute. The relic stretched itself out, shuddered a bit, then settled gently over Stephen’s lap like a blanket. After a minute the relic was so still anyone would have mistaken it for a normal piece of fabric. 

“Spoiled,” Wong said. He shook his head and took out the pastries from the basket, “Completely spoiled.”

“Loved,” Stephen corrected, “Spoiled doesn’t really suit me anymore. Well--huh, I guess loved doesn’t either.”

His hands ran against the Cloak softly, more to comfort himself than anything else. 

“Oh Stephen, you were always spoiled,” Wong said, “Even when you were a novice.”

“Oh really? How? Cause none of what I went through was particularly easy. Mordo...ummm..well Mordo he...you know what, forget it. Nevermind. Pick another topic,” 

Stephen bit into a pastry to shut himself up. It was overwhelmingly, gushingly sweet. Wong was never one for desserts, much less ones that were so packed with sugar on top that it crunched with each bite. Stephen was about to ask why he’d brought it in the first place when Wong spoke again.

“I think you and I have very different definitions of being spoiled.” Wong continued, “You seem to think it means pampering someone, making things too easy for them, overindulging them-”

“Yeah, because that’s what it is Wong.”

“No Stephen. When I think of someone being spoiled I think of them receiving the very best of everything. Did you not receive the best training? Allowed to trespass off-hours in the library? Permitted to practice magic well beyond what you could handle? You were extremely spoiled. And honestly, most of that can be blamed on Mordo.”

Stephen for once, had no reply. He simply kept biting into his food, chewing softly at the meal while avoiding Wong’s eyes. 

“I warned him against doing so.” Wong admitted, “Told him that he was investing far too much time and energy on someone who, at the time, didn’t seem to deserve it. Or worse, would abuse it. You know enough of his history to understand why The Ancient One and I would be so protective of him.”

“I understand that but I wish I knew more,” Stephen said, still averting looking Wong at the face. “What I know, I heard from others. He was always so evasive about it. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You? Intruding? I can’t imagine.”

A few minutes passed in silence between them, all the while the master of the Sanctum looked out of the window with heavy eyes. His gaze sank into the glassy, dim city before them, wearily searching through the batches of people that skimmed by. Rain, soft and light, started to roll against the window in a slow, silvery dance.

“If you asked he would have told you everything,” Wong said at last. 

“I highly doubt that,” Stephen’s voice was unnaturally timid, as if the words were mere thoughts that somehow slipped out into the air. 

“I don’t,” Wong said, “Because he told me so himself. You forget that we were friends long before you entered our lives. But he’s gone now, and that’s the painful truth we must all live with.”

The clouds outside deepened into hideous dark shades and spread throughout the sky. The low hum of thunder growled in the distance. 

“Why are you saying all of this now?” Stephen’s hands trembled. 

“Because you need to hear it,” Wong said. “Because I don’t wish to see you torture yourself any longer. I’ve known Mordo longer than anyone else. He won’t come back in the way you want or in the way you expect. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

The angry clouds rolled over the city. The rain forgot its former gentleness and smacked harder against the Sanctum. The surge was a chaotic battering of water, screaming wind, and blinding light. It was madness as the people below rushed for cover, some nearly swept by the wrathful storm.

Yet none of the turmoil outside could match the sudden, terrible ache that gripped his heart. The pain he collected there erupted at long last, mingling with emotions he dare not admit for fear of deepening his grief.

“Unfortunately I’m more stubborn than you. I don’t give up just because it’s easier and less painful that way. If I could endure being in a time loop with that...that monster...then I can wait for Mordo.”

“Stephen--”

“I have never given up and I’m not going to start now.”

The Cloak jolted awake from its master’s distress and quickly settled on the doctor’s shoulders. 

“No one can wait forever. What you seek is impossible.”

“I’ve seen the impossible happen before. I’ve done the impossible before. So don’t you dare tell me otherwise.”

Stephen’s eyes lifted to meet Wong’s gaze, fury flashing within his brilliant blue glare. 

“How would you help him then, when he couldn’t even muster the strength to stay with you in the first place? Have you ever asked yourself that? Or did you think he’ll just show up one day? You’ll embrace, forgive, forget, have a happy ending with absolutely no consequences? You’re clinging to a foolish fantasy.” 

Wong looked at him with a level of anger Stephen never expected to see. 

“And you need to wake up.” 

The tears Stephen tried to hide threatened to burst. 

“It pains you but it also pains him. Have you considered that?” Wong continued, “You paralyzed him and moved him all at once. Made him stay when he should run. Run when he should stay--”

“Then why does he keep running?” Stephen’s voice broke, “There are days when I swear I see him out there, looking up at the Sanctum from across the street. Nights when I wake up to see him by my bed. I blink and he’s gone. I wonder if I’m losing my mind, if I’m just so desperate to see him that I’m conjuring something that isn’t real.”

Wong listened patiently, his eyes dark and observant of every movement Stephen made.

“Perhaps it was your imagination. Or perhaps he really was there. All that I’m certain of is that Mordo will return for you. That was never my doubt. Your paths are bound to meet again. But it may not be the reunion you want. He might not even be the man you remember. The only guarantee, Stephen, is that you will meet him again. I fear for you both when that happens.”

Stephen often imagined it, rehearsed what he would say, the motions he would do, the apologies he’d make. His hopes shrunk at the thought that Mordo would continue to reject him regardless. 

“Alright, so our reunion won’t be happy. Fine. So be it. I’ll take anything. Yelling, fighting, anything else... anything except this god-forsaken silence. I just want this waiting to end. When will it end?”

“No one can say. We’re not prophets.” Wong said, his face solemn. Heavy sadness rolled within those words, and their familiarity too much for Stephen to hear. 

“I’m scared,” Stephen’s vision blurred with the tears he still tried to contain.

“Of Mordo?”

“Of everything running through my head. I keep going over everything, every memory, trying to find the place where I could have fixed it all. Was there something else I could have done? Was there any chance at all? I found no answer to those questions but...but I realized something else instead. It scares me,” Stephen’s voice broke, “Oh god I was such an idiot!”

The doctor jolted away as his friend reached out to touch his arm. He wished desperately that the reflexes would stop, but the memory of Dormammu’s cruel touch seemed to destroy any physical comfort another gave, no matter how benign the motion.

Stephen quickly composed himself enough to look Wong in the eyes. Pain reflected between them both. Stephen closed his eyes and touched Wong’s sleeve in apology. For a moment he imagined it was Mordo instead, as if the lost sorcerer could feel it somehow.

“And what was it that you realized?” Wong asked, “Tell me.”

Stephen’s eyes opened to a new set of tears. 

“I have a feeling I already know,” Wong said gently. “You don’t have anything to fear. I’m in no place to judge you.”

Stephen’s smile, soft, sad, and broken by sobs could have driven any soul to share his pain.

“I think he might have been in love with me.”

Once his tears fell, the rest of his heart followed. He cried openly, the breath within him struggling to form his next words. Wong pulled away from him. Stephen’s eyes were too downcast to see the regret in the other man’s face.

"Might have?" Wong said, “It was more than a mere ‘might have.’ It was right before your eyes. The man adored you.”

“He had an awful way of saying it,” Stephen said, shaking his head, refusing to believe Wong’s confirmation, “He said nothing at all.”

“Of course he didn’t. Mordo is a master of many things but openly expressing affection isn’t one of them. He was always troubled by the idea of love. His family left him very cynical of romance, love, and anything of that sort.”

Wong took a deep breath, his hands tightened as he spoke.

“He survived without such love before, he could continue to live the rest of his life without it. He never told anyone but me, that he said those things out of fear that he might not deserve love at all. That he might not be capable of it. Any semblance of love he had as a child was a lie. How could he know when it was real? Then you arrived.”

Wong lifted Stephen’s face gently. This time the doctor didn’t flinch away. 

“He never said it, but you must have realized that everything he did was for you. Even when he was cross and harsh. He wanted to protect you more than anything. You proved to him that he was, even in his own quiet way, able to love. Even though it might not be returned.”

“That’s the worst part,” Stephen’s breathing hitched. “I was in love with him too.”

The tense silence between them was interrupted only by Stephen’s cries. 

“It took me too long to realize it, but I was,” Stephen lifted a shaking hand over his heart, where the Eye should have been but rested no longer. “I still am. I should have stopped him. I should have told him-”

Wong slowly withdrew from him, his own eyes bright with sudden grief. Before Stephen could react, the librarian swiftly cast a spell that enveloped him. The Cloak shuddered for an instant, crippled painlessly under the sudden energy that bound it. 

Stephen was next to fall under the heavy weight of the spell. It was strangely comforting and warm, like an embrace sorely missed. He fell slowly to the ground, barely feeling the strong hands on his back that guided him safely.The world darkened around him, as if the storm outside had reached in and devoured the Sanctum. His vision faltered, blurred by the intense sleep that rolled over his senses. Somewhere above him, Wong’s voice spoke. 

“When he confessed his love for you I asked him how he knew for certain.” 

The doctor sank deeper into the comforting darkness.

“He simply said that you were both his weakness and his joy, wrapped in flesh, and given a name.”

Stephen felt tears on his face, though this time they were not his own.

“Forgive me. For not telling you sooner.”

The last thoughts he had were of Mordo, of the words they should have told each other, of the chances now lost forever. The last thing he felt was a hand upon his cheek and a kiss upon his tears. With a soft cry the spell wrapped around him, binding him in a blissful slumber. 

_______________________________________

 

He awoke to the sound of thunder and Wong shouting his name.

“Strange! Strange wake up!”

The world came back in a confusing haze. Lightning raced through the furious, dark sky. The windows of the Sanctum rattled violently as the storm claimed the city. 

“Stephen!” Wong shook his shoulders, panic clear and frightening over the librarian’s face, “What happened to you?”

Stephen groaned as the sleeping spell unraveled from him. His heart was thumping rapidly as he awoke. There was a hand on his shoulder. He flinched again. 

“Stephen?”

“Wong?”

“What the hell happened here?” Wong demanded, “For goodness sake, how long were you under that spell?”

“You did this--” Stephen said. His head was pounding as heavy as his heart, “You did this. What were you doing?”

“Stephen--”

“Why are you back? Something else you forgot to say?” Stephen’s voice remained weak, but the anger was not unnoticed, “Cause you’ve said plenty.”

“Listen to me. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wong explained, “I thought you’d enjoy some company after I missed an entire week of visiting you. I arrived to find both you and the Cloak passed out on the ground!”

“From a spell you cast!” Stephen said bitterly, “Why are you lying? Did you lie about the other things you said too?”

“Stephen...I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just got here.” Wong threw the basket he was carrying on the ground. The contents landed beside the doctor. It was the collection of books he’d asked to borrow during their last visit, “There, every text regarding location spells, just as you asked.”

The Master of the Sanctum got to his feet, stumbling as the remnants of the spell clung to him. He tugged at the Cloak frantically, begging it to wake up. 

“Stephen,” Wong pointed to the window, “Who was in this Sanctum?”

He followed the librarian’s gaze to where the food from earlier remained, now abandoned, and clearly shared between two. He looked at Wong, searching for any hint that this was some awful, cruel joke. He only saw confusion and genuine worry. 

The Cloak stirred weakly, shaking off the groggy effects of the spell. 

“Oh my god-” Stephen’s tears swelled again. His heart raced wildly with desperate hope. He touched the place where he felt that hand on him, and the kiss on his face, “He was here. It was him!” 

He ran past Wong, rushing like a madman out of the safety of the Sanctum into the merciless storm.

“Stephen!”

The heavy doors of the sanctuary swung open at their Master’s command. The heavy, frigid rain shocked Stephen back to his senses for a moment. But it wasn’t enough to deter him. 

He ran through the thankfully empty streets, the only soul foolish enough to venture through the storm. 

“Mordo? Mordo!”

He cursed the name even as he screamed it. 

“Mordo!” 

Stephen cried without restraint, his tears drowning in the unfeeling rain. There was no reply. He knew in his heart there wouldn’t be. Yet he kept searching, begging, crying, even though he knew there was nothing there to answer him back. 

He collapsed to his knees, chanting Mordo’s name like a broken prayer. He hid his face in his shaking hands, his tears pouring out hot and bitter against the chaos of the storm.

_________________________________

Mordo blinked as a golden burst of light flooded around him. As the light vanished, his disguise peeled away like vapor in the air. He was once again himself. Once again terribly alone. Almost.

The tendrils of magic spun around themselves like a string trailing back to the former Asgardian prince. He was a tall man, slender and fair faced. His dark, unruly hair fell to his shoulders. There was a clever, sly smile on his lips as he sauntered towards his latest ally.

“So,” Loki winked, “How did it go?”

**Author's Note:**

> That’s all folks! I tried :/ *slides over to drown in fluff*


End file.
